


The Crystal Skull

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: American Indian religion, Archaeology, F/M, Geology, Hopi Indians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 19:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Indy has travelled to Texas to meet a young geologist who has made an astounding find, a crystal skull buried in New Mexico.  He recognizes it as a sacred artifact but word gets out and they encounter a Hopi Indian who claims the crystal skull as a tribal religious piece and is determined to have it back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The Indiana Jones characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Cheree Cargill and is copyright (c) 1985 by Cheree Cargill. This story is Rated PG.

The geologist stood as Indiana Jones approached. The slight young man was perched rather precariously up the shale slope, rock hammer in hand, specimen bag hanging from his belt. A pith helmet shaded his smooth face and he wore the same type of shapeless, comfortable pants and shirt that Jones sported.

"Excuse me!" Jones called up to the younger man. "I'm looking for K. T. Sullivan."

"You gotter," the geologist replied in an incongruously high voice, making Jones suddenly apprehensive. "Wait! Let me come down!"

Indy moved back away from the shower of dust and shale that careened down the slope as Sullivan stowed the rock pick in its belt case and slipped and slid down the hill face. At last the young geologist reached the bottom and approached Indy, removing the pith helmet to wipe the dust and sweat off his face with a slim forearm. The doubt that had gripped Indy was resolved ― "he" was a "she."

"Now, what can I do for you?" Sullivan asked.

"Uh ... you're K. T. Sullivan?" Indy could see now that through the grime of field work, the woman was quite pretty ― sun-streaked hair braided in the back and pinned up, dusty-green eyes peering through wire-rimmed spectacles, a no-nonsense air about her.

"Yeah, that's right. Katy Sullivan."

Confused, he pulled out a rumpled letter and stared at the return address. "But, you _are_ 'K. T.', right?"

Sullivan's brows came together and her jaw tightened. She obviously had been through this before. "Yeah ― 'Katharine Theresa Sullivan.' Now that we have that settled, what's your business here?"

Indy shook himself and came back to the present. "I'm sorry. I was just expecting a man, that's all. I'm Dr. Henry Jones, Marshall College." He stuck out his hand.

Sullivan's brows went up in a flash of recognition and she removed her dirty right work glove and took his hand. Indy noted that her grip was strong and uncompromising. "Oh, yes, Dr. Jones. I'm sorry ― I didn't expect you to come in person. I thought you'd just send back some information."

"Well, your letter intrigued me and I had two weeks before summer session starts, so I thought ― what the hell? I didn't get an answer at your house, then spotted you down the road here as I was leaving."

She chuckled. "Yes ... I'm afraid I really don't have much of an excuse for being out here; just prospecting, you might say."

Indy's ears pricked. "Prospecting?"

She grinned and dug down into her specimen bag, coming up with a handful of small fossil shells. "Brachiopods," she said. "Crinoids, porifera. Here's a lovely horn coral. And look at this ― a really nicely preserved echinoderm." Indy's face showed his disappointment; he'd obviously been expecting something else. Sullivan smiled again appraisingly. "Sorry, no gold or diamonds, Dr. Jones. Paleozoology is rather a passion of mine, I'm afraid, and I like to come out here and fossil hunt whenever I can spare the time." She indicated the slope behind her. "See, when they cut the road down through this hill, they exposed some really nice strata ― a Pennsylvanian unconformity overlain with remnants of limestone. Nice redbed up there that I working in. This whole area was a seabed."

"I see."

She laughed again, understanding he didn't "see" at all. "I'm sorry; I was lecturing again, wasn't I? First rule of thumb ― never get me started on geology. I'll talk your ear off! I'm almost done here. Have you eaten? Well, let me get my trilobite and we'll go back up to the house. I'll only be a minute."

Indy pushed his hat back a bit and watched as she nimbly scrambled up the steep slope, her boots finding purchase amid the crumbling rock layers. For a second he caught himself thinking that she had a very nice ass and that evoked a little pulse of pleasure in him that he quickly filed away. He was here on business, after all, and this was a fellow scientist.

Up the hill, she braced herself and hammered away at a rock for a couple of minutes, then resheathed her pick and slid back down the slope. Upon reaching Indy, she held out a fist-sized chunk of limestone. The chitinous shell of a segmented creature was imbedded in the stone and he ran a finger over it. "Nice one," he commented.

She was breathing a bit hard from the exertion and grinned. "Yeah. Pretty rare in this strata, too. They'd just about died out by then." She took the rock and carefully stowed it in her specimen bag. "Now, how about some lunch?"

"Fine."

They walked the quarter mile up the two-lane farm-to-market road to Katy's small farm house, where Indy's car sat in the graveled driveway. The house needed painting and a weathered barn slumped at the rear of it, looking as if it had seen better days. There was a corral attached to it but it was empty and there was no sign of livestock around the premises.

"Welcome to Le Chateau Sullivan," Katy announced and preceded him up the steps to the covered porch. Indy took a quick survey of his surroundings and decided he liked them very much. The countryside was enveloped in the sleepy quiet of a Texas summer afternoon. Bees nosed about the honeysuckle vines that engulfed the railing and the weathered porch swing moved gently in the breeze. A big elm tree hovered over the front walk, shading most of the yard. Just as Katy opened the screen door, a burly orange tabby appeared and thrust itself first into the house.

"Well, hello, Spike," she said. "Where have you been? Out tom-catting again?" She shook her head then led Indy into the hallway of her house. The hall ran the length of the house with rooms branching off on both sides.

"Make yourself at home, Dr. Jones. I've got to get out of these boots before my feet fry!" She waved him into the living room and disappeared further down the hall. The cat approached and sniffed speculatively at him, then arched its back and seemed to smile as Indy bent down to scratch it between the ears.

The living room reflected the general flavor of the rest of the house ― comfortably ramshackle, the wallpaper stained from a leaky roof an unknown time before, the old green couch thoroughly broken in, a large bookshelf filled with volumes of various sizes and colors. He wandered over to take a look, always curious to see what other people had on their shelves, feeling a person's books were an inner window to their souls. Katy's were of a wide variety, from cheap novels to classics to reference and science books. He idly picked up a _National Geographic_ and flipped through it.

"Ah ... relief!" Sullivan's voice announced behind him and he turned to find her subtly transformed. She still wore the same shirt and pants, but was now barefoot and she had let her hair down. It was longer than fashion dictated and fell past her shoulders in crinkled waves from being braided. She was holding two glasses of iced tea and offered him one. He took it with a smile. "Hot out there today," she continued, and reached up to pull the chain on the ceiling fan. The blades hummed into life and Katy fanned the front of her shirt a couple of times, smiling to herself. "That's better. Take your hat off and sit down, Dr. Jones. Is tuna salad okay? Wish I could offer you more but that's about all have in the house."

"Sure, tuna is fine. I don't want to impose on you, though."

"No problem. Be back in a minute."

True to her word, she was back with two plates of sandwiches almost before he could settle into the couch. She put his plate down on the coffee table and balanced hers on the wide arm of an overstuffed chair, into which she folded herself with agility.

"Now," she said, around a mouthful of sandwich. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, everything you can tell me," Indy answered. "You said it had to do with the paper I wrote last summer on North American Pre-Columbian cultures."

Sullivan continued to chew, watching him. "Yes, the one for _Scientific American_ ," she said. "It's not my field but I found it very interesting."

"Just what is your field, Dr. Sullivan?"

"Whoops ― not Doctor Sullivan," she answered. "I'm just an M.S. I teach physical and historical geology here at Summerville Junior College. It's not much of a college but ... well, universities aren't exactly clamoring for lady geologists and, times being what they are, I'm not complaining."

He nodded. "I know what you mean. Marshall isn't exactly the University of Chicago either."

"Is that your alma mater?"

"Yes," he answered but in such a way that she understood that to be a closed subject.

She shrugged and continued, "I found the artifact on a field trip to the Upper Rio Grande in New Mexico this spring. I took a class of 202's out there to study the landforms ― erosional patterns and such ― and came across it in an arroyo off Tesuque Creek. I didn't know what to make of it so I showed it to Dr. Frost, my department head, and he suggested some people who might be able help me. You were one of them."

"Uh ... if you don't mind my asking... what exactly is 'it'?" Indy asked, thoroughly curious. "You were rather vague in your letter."

Katy set her plate back on the arm and got up. "Yes ... I had to be a little cautious. Come on; I'll show you." She led Indy down the short hall to the bedroom at the back of the house. The room was sunny and inviting, the curtains moving lazily in the breeze coming through the screened windows, various potted plants sitting around, the cat curled up sleepily on one window sill. Several books and magazines were piled beside the unmade bed and Sullivan's dusty field boots and socks lay haphazardly in the middle of the floor.

He brought his attention to the bookcase she stood before. This, too, was filled with a variety of books but it was not for one of these that she was reaching. On the top shelf was the most unusual bookend Jones had ever seen. He watched in growing awe as she retrieved it and turned to present it to him.

It was a human skull, roughly half life-size, carved from one single block of quartz crystal. The deep-socketed eyes stared back at him and the teeth grinned defiantly in a perpetual death-laugh.

Indy swallowed to wet his dry throat and looked back at the young woman. "My God, do you know what this is?"

Her features tightened a bit in annoyance. "No, Dr. Jones, I don't. I was hoping you'd tell me that!"

He shook his head in disbelief. "There couldn't be two of them!" he said to himself, then to her, "This is the Crystal Skull of the Anasazi."

Her face didn't change, except perhaps that an element of puzzlement crept into her eyes. It didn't mean anything to her.

He thought for a moment and tried to explain. "No one knows how old this skull is. I didn't even believe it was real until a minute ago. It was mentioned in Aztec codices as a holy object but it's not Aztec. It predates the Aztec culture. The general consensus seems to be that it must have been of Anasazi origin."

"Anasazi?" Katy repeated. I've heard that name but can't place it."

"It means 'the ancient ones' in the Navajo Indian language. The Anasazi lived from about 100 B.C. until nearly 1600 across the Southwest, mostly in Arizona and New Mexico. The peak of their culture seems to have been about 1000 to 1200. We don't know an awful lot about them," Indy said. "They built complex cities and roads and were accomplished farmers and then suddenly their culture just ... took a nose-dive. They abandoned their cities and fields and were gone." He shook his head again in wonder. "I was on the Judd expedition in the '20's that did some of the first serious excavations in Chaco Canyon. I was a grad student then and went out on a summer dig. The things we found were astounding."

"You think this is an important find, then?"

"Oh, definitely. Of course, there's not any proof that the Anasazi made this thing. But whatever its origin, you shouldn't just have it lying around your house as a bookend. It's worth a fortune!"

"Well, now you've made me nervous!" Katy laughed. "It's been sitting up there on my bookshelf for weeks! Now I'm worried that someone will break in and steal it!"

He handed it carefully back to her. "Would you mind if I called a friend of mine at the American Museum of Natural History? This really should be on display."

"Wow... the American..." Sullivan mused, smiling. "No, please do. Call whoever you need to. I'd love to see it there. The phone's in the hallway." She placed the crystal skull back up on the shelf, settling it with new reverence, and led Indy to the phone stand.

After dictating a telegram to Marcus Brody, Indy wandered back down the hall looking for Katy. He found her lying back on the bed, hands behind her head and gazing bemusedly at the skull. She didn't hear him at first and he couldn't help staring at her for a moment. The sun streaming in through the windows gilded her profile with a bright halo and made her wavy blonde hair shine with an ethereal glow, her odalisque pose accentuating the thrust of her breasts and the curve of her stomach. The loose masculine clothing she wore had given lie to her femininity. She looked soft and very inviting and Indy felt a primal throb of excitement jolt him before he realized it.

She looked up then and for a breathless moment their gazes locked. The flash of raw hunger in his eyes held her and she was startled to recognize an answering surge in her own body. Hurriedly, she scrambled to her feet, trying to cover her blush. Eye contact broken, he was looking rather uncomfortable himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm being a bad hostess. Did you get through to your friend?"

"Er ... yes. I mean I sent a telegram to him. I should be hearing something shortly." Indy rubbed one palm reflexively on his trouser leg, flustered that he had let himself think so openly about her sexuality ― and get caught at it, too. He cleared his throat and continued, "I ... uh ... gave him this address. I don't want to impose but would you mind if I stuck around here until he answers? I didn't stop to check into the hotel. I didn't get here until nearly noon and wanted to go ahead and look you up."

"Oh, my pleasure. Come back into the living room; we can finish our lunch and talk some more." She ushered him away from the bedroom and the thoughts that coursed through her mind about him.

Reseated in the dark, cool living room, they quickly finished their sandwiches and iced tea, talking of insignificant things to hide their respective discomfort. After a time, Jones asked, "Is there a library in town? I'd like to see if I can follow up some ideas I have about the skull."

"There's only the college library," she answered. "It's not huge, but I generally find it pretty complete. You can use my faculty card to check out whatever you need. I'll call Mrs. Turner and tell her to expect you."

His smile was warm and genuine. "Why, thanks, Miss Sullivan. I appreciate your generosity."

"Katy," she said and smiled back. "I feel like I'm in class if you call me 'Miss Sullivan'."

"Okay... Katy. And you call me 'Indy'. My friends do."

Her voice was unexpectedly soft, shy. "I'd like to be your friend ... Indy."

Again they were caught by something in the air between them and again they broke it before it could go any farther. "I'll get my library card," Katy said and hurried out of the room. She was back in a moment with a tattered looking piece of cardboard. "Do you know how to get to the college? Okay, I'll call and let them know you're coming and keep an ear out for the phone in case your friend from the Museum calls."

Jones settled his fedora on his head and pocketed the library card. "Thanks. I'll be back shortly." He had a sudden, irrational urge to kiss her but caught himself and strode purposefully out the door to his car instead. Katy stood by the screen and watched him backing out of the driveway, wondering about the curious empty space she was feeling in her chest.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Indy returned several hours later and Katy had him pull his car up beside hers in the tin-roofed car shed across the backyard from the house; then she helped him carry in the armload of books and dumped them on the cluttered kitchen table where Indy could work.

"I got a room at the hotel while I was out," he told her as they sorted through the various volumes. "Hopefully Marcus will answer my telegram pretty soon and I'll get out of your hair. Meanwhile, I thought we might see what we can come up with on the skull."

She demurred that he wasn't at all in her hair and they sat down to tackle their research. After a while, she decided that it was suppertime and got up to see what she could find in the icebox. It was embarrassingly empty except for a half dozen eggs and a bottle of milk.

"I know what," Indy grinned, stretching the kinks out of his back. "Have you got flour? I'll make pancakes." She paused and looked skeptical, which brought an offended expression in return. "You don't think I can? Why, you haven't lived until you've seen me flip my flapjacks!" He stood up and demonstrated, pretending to toss a pancake up into the air from an imaginary griddle, then twisting and catching it again behind his back.

Katy couldn't restrain a giggle, watching him cavort. "Where did you learn to cook? I thought men were all thumbs in the kitchen!"

"Hey! When you're a man on your own, you either learn to cook or you eat beans every day. I got tired of beans so I learned."

"Okay, then, put up or shut up." With a flourish and a mock bow, Katy turned her kitchen over to Indy.

To her surprise, he demonstrated a real flair with a spatula and soon had a stack of beautifully done pancakes layered on a platter. She looked at him with new respect. "Say ― you weren't kidding, were you? I'm impressed!"

Indy shrugged modestly, pleased nonetheless. "Well, I'm no chef, but I do make a pretty mean breakfast."

She made coffee for them while he finished up, then cleared off enough space on the table for them to eat. As she put their plates on the table along with the butter and syrup, she remarked, "You said 'a man on his own'. You're not married, Indy?"

He shook his head as he sat down at the table. "No," he answered shortly.

"Anyone special in your life?"

Again, he answered rather perfunctorily then said, "Look, I'd really rather not talk about my personal life, if you don't mind."

Stung, she sat back in her chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Indy looked up at her and realized he'd snapped at her. "Katy, I'm sorry. It's just that ... I had a ... bad relationship, that's all. It's over and done with now and I'd like to forget it and go on. I really didn't mean to bite your head off."

"It's okay, Indy, I understand," she said softly. "I lost someone, too. I was married for two years to a wonderful man ... who just couldn't cope with the fact that I needed to be ... more than just his wife. One day he gave me an ultimatum ― him or my work ― and I had to choose what was best for me."

Indy reached out and took her hand. "He was a fool," he said softly. "I think you're pretty remarkable."

She smiled and gently pulled her hand out of his grasp. "Thanks. Better eat your pancakes ... they're getting cold."

When they were nearly through eating, there was a knock at the door and Katy got up to answer it. She returned in a minute and handed him a telegram. "It's for you, Indy."

"Ah ― I knew Marcus couldn't resist this!" He tore the envelope open and quickly scanned the message, his face slowly twisting into a lop-sided grin. "He wants us on the next train! I've really got his mouth watering now! I think he'll be prepared to offer you a substantial sum for the skull, Katy."

"That's good news," she said. "I could use the money." She gestured broadly at the house. "This place isn't exactly the Taj Mahal, but the rent is cheap."

"I rather like this house," Indy replied, pocketing the telegram. "It suits you, I think."

She laughed and looked a bit offended. "So, you think I'm old and broken down, huh? And after I loaned you my library card and everything!"

"That's not what I meant, at all!" he retorted. "Awww ― you know what I meant..."

He waved her off and conveyed another forkfull of pancakes to his mouth.

She chuckled and got up to put her plate and coffee cup in the sink. As she was running water over them, he joined her and slipped his own plate and cup in as well. "Wash or dry?" he asked.

"Oh, I just let them air dry in the drainer. Besides, you cooked ― so I'll wash. It'll only take a minute."

While she did the dishes, Indy fed the cat then went down the hall to the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returned, she was drying her hands on an embroidered cup towel.

"You seemed to have found what you were looking for there," she said, nodded toward the books on the table. "Anything that could tell us about the skull?"

"Maybe so," he answered, reseating himself, his mood sobering. She pulled her chair around close beside him and peered at the books he had open.

"One of the centers of Anasazi culture was Pueblo Bonito in Chaco Canyon," Indy began, his voice low and forceful, tinged with the wonder and mysticism he always felt in the presence of ancient peoples. "It seems to have been a ceremonial city with several great _kivas_. The _kivas_ were sacred places, located underground and accessed through a _sipapu_ ― a hole in the roof ― which symbolized the Anasazi creation myth, their ... uh ... birth from the Womb of the Great Mother of Earth. A whole series of roads connected Pueblo Bonito to outlying towns. It may have been a sort of federal city, handling the outliers' trade and political alliances. By 1085 A.D., Pueblo Bonito was the greatest city in North America ― buildings five stories high, a complex water storage system, paved roads absolutely straight, a major agricultural center raising enough food to feed 5,000 people." Indy paused and his voice softened. "Then during the mid-1100's, something happened. Work on the buildings stopped. The social system collapsed. Around 1150, a drought struck the area such as the Anasazi had never known. There was no water or food and the people starved."

His voice trailed off and Katy looked up silently at him, gripped by the intense, introspective expression on his face. His jaw worked tightly and his gaze turned inward, as if he were envisioning the death throes of a people. Affected, too, she laid a hand on his arm and said quietly, "You think the skull had something to do with it?"

His attention returned to the present and he sighed. "I don't know. There is one legend mentioned here, from the Hopi, that tells of a raiding party from the south ... maybe Aztecs ... that violated a great _kiva_ and stole a sacred object, the _kachina_ spirit that protected the area. With the _kachina_ gone, the rain stopped and the area died."

"The skull..." Katy said in a whisper.

Jones frowned and took off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. It's possible."

"But I found it in an arroyo a hundred miles from Chaco. How did it get there?"

Again Indy shook his head. "Stolen back by the Anasazi, perhaps, or by a rival tribe. Maybe they were ambushed there and the skull was buried for safe-keeping or maybe it was just lost. Who knows?"

"Yes..." Katy murmured. Her thoughts far away, she moved against the warmth of his body, inclining her head toward him. Gradually, their intimate position dawned on her and she looked up to find him watching her with the intent expression she had seen in his eyes earlier. For a moment, they searched each other's faces and the sheer, vital masculinity of him awakened areas within her that she thought silenced. She never knew which one of them moved first, but she found herself closing her eyes and leaning into his kiss. It was warm and unhurried and she felt herself responding to the sensuous promise of it. When their lips finally parted, she felt flushed and moved back a bit.

"Indy..." she said in a whisper, but then couldn't decide what she had started to say. Instead, she took off her wire-rim glasses and laid them on the table next to his, then slid her arm around his neck and moved more firmly back into his arms.

This time there was more fire and his lips eagerly opened hers, their tongues playing against each other. His mouth tasted sweet and she could feel the heat of his rising passion. She was rather breathless when the kiss ended and she leaned against him, hearing his heart beating as fast as her own.

"This is crazy," she murmured. "I only met you this afternoon. Why do I feel this way about you?"

He nuzzled into her hair, breathing hard, lightly trailing kisses down her ear and neck. "I don't know. I didn't expect this, either."

She raised her head, her soft eyes searching his, and caressed his face, running her thumb over his mouth and cheek. He met her gaze steadily despite the need throbbing within him, a dozen messages hovering in the golden depths of his eyes ― hope, inquiry, hunger, restraint ― and she knew that the next move was hers. He wouldn't force her into anything.

"I don't know how to explain what I'm feeling right now, Indy," she said huskily. "I don't even know you ... I don't know why..." Her voice faltered and, for a second, her long dark lashes veiled her eyes, then she looked back at him, her heart pounding, knowing what she was going to do. Very softly, she kissed him again then whispered against his lips, "I want you, Indy. Please make love to me."

He drew back and studied her face. "Are you sure? We can stop right now, you know," he said.

But she touched his lips again softly with hers and rose, taking his hand. Silently, they went down the hall to her bedroom, now darkening in the early evening twilight. Light was unnecessary for their purpose and their hands and lips found their own way.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Indy awoke, trying to orient himself. He hadn't meant to doze off following their love-making, but the satisfying warmth of Katy's body had been irresistible. She was curled against him, asleep, her head on his shoulder, her left arm over his chest. It was dark but a glance at the clock on the nightstand showed that it was only 9:50. Not scandalously late yet but he'd have to leave soon.

However, it wasn't the time that had brought him up from sleep. He raised his head a bit, listening. He could hear the soft sigh of wind moving through the leaves of the elm tree in the backyard, the muted sound of a distant train, and a cricket singing somewhere, but that was all. He lowered his head back to the pillow and closed his eyes. Must have been the cat.

Abruptly, he was alert, listening hard. A floorboard had creaked very slightly in the kitchen and in seconds he knew that someone was in the house.

Gently disengaging himself from Katy's embrace, he slipped out of bed and moved into the shadows in one corner of the room, waiting. Minutes ticked by, then, as he'd expected, a black shape silently appeared in the doorway, pausing to survey the room. Indy held his breath and willed himself to motionlessness. His ploy worked; apparently the intruder was expecting Katy to be alone, for after a few seconds the man moved towards the bookcase.

Katy sighed and rolled over onto her back, causing both Indy and the intruder to tense, coiled for immediate action. But she settled back into deep sleep and they both relaxed a bit. The intruder paused before the bookcase and located what he was after. As he was reaching up to the top shelf, towards the crystal skull, Indy ordered, "Hold it right there!"

The man whipped around with blinding speed and the faint light in the room glinted off a length of metal in his hand. Katy had jerked awake at the sound of Indy's voice and managed a groggy, "Huh―?", which caused the intruder to yank his head and the knife in her direction.

Indy took the opportunity and launched himself at the man, tackling him and knocking them both to the floor. Katy bolted upright with a startled cry, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

"Indy!" she called. "Indy ― what's going on?" But Jones was too busy wrestling for possession of the knife to answer. The other man was tenaciously strong and for a few seconds the contest rocked back and forth with no clear winner. Distantly, Indy heard Katy say, "Dammit, what's going on?! Where are my glasses?!"

Jones had finally gotten the man onto his back and slammed the knife-wielding hand against the foot of the bed, knocking the weapon out of his grasp. The intruder gasped in pain but then landed a solid punch with his other hand to Indy's chin, staggering him with the blow. As Jones reeled back, the man shoved him hard, scrambling to his feet and dashing from the room. Indy recovered in seconds and pelted after him, but the intruder had already bolted through the screen door in the kitchen and Indy was just in time to see him leap the back fence and disappear into the darkness.

Breathing hard, Indy clutched at the doorframe and let him go, hampered by his own cultural inhibitions against running through the night sans his trousers. After a few seconds, he turned away and quickly went back up the hall to the bedroom.

Katy was down on her hands and knees, feeling around under the bed. She jerked back at the sight of him, then squinted and said hopefully, "Indy?"

"Yeah ... are you all right?"

"Oh, thank God! Yes ... except I can't find my glasses! What happened?! Who was that?!"

He shook his head, still breathless, and drew her to her feet, enfolding her in a thankful embrace. She was shaking hard and clung to him. "He was after the skull. I couldn't get a good look at him. How about you?"

She was silent and, when she spoke, there was a frustrated, tearful note in her voice. "Indy... I couldn't see him. I've lost my glasses!"

"Oh ... uh ... you left them on the kitchen table. Don't you remember?"

"Now I do. Dammit, you could've been killed because of me! I couldn't see to help you!"

Surprised at her vehemence, he looked down at her then said, "Take it easy. It's okay. Wait ― I'll go get them for you." He was back in a few seconds with her wire-rim spectacles and she put them on with a deep sigh, then looked ruefully up at him.

"I'm sorry, Indy. I should have told you. I can't see past my nose without them!"

He chuckled and bent down to kiss her. "It's okay; we're not hurt. Come on; let's see what damage was done. Where are my pants?" They quickly got dressed then Indy turned on the bedside lamp and searched around until he found the knife, lying near the wall where it had been knocked during the fight. It was a formidable weapon ― a nine-inch hunting knife, honed to razor sharpness, with a deer antler handle. Jones raised an eyebrow and thought about how near it had come to sliding up under his ribs. Reaching into his back pocket, he found his handkerchief and used it to pick the weapon up, hoping that the sheriff would be able to salvage some fingerprints from it.

"Good Lord!" Katy gasped, looking over his shoulder.

"Nice little throat-cutter, isn't it?" he replied.

Indy stood up and surveyed the room. It was disarrayed but nothing had been harmed. Laying the knife on the nightstand, he went down the hall to the kitchen, Katy following. After turning on the light, he examined the screen.

"Don't you lock your doors?" Jones inquired, casting a hard eye at the woman.

She drew herself up defensively. "Do you think this is the crime capital of the world? People just don't lock up here. There's no reason to. Besides ... the front door's locked."

Indy looked a little contrite and said, "Well, I think you'd better lock the back door, too, from now on. Meanwhile, do you want to call the sheriff about this?"

She looked distressed and answered, "No. I don't think that's a very good idea. My God, Indy, it could ruin both of us if anyone found out that we ... I mean... I can't afford to lose my job, pitiful as it is ― especially on morals charges. It's hard enough overcoming the prejudice against being a divorcee and a woman scientist without people calling you a whore, too."

Indy's own past gouged him in the gut. He'd had to pull up stakes and move from Chicago because of the scandal Abner was threatening to raise over his affair with Marion. He couldn't afford another close call like that, himself. And Katy's reputation was even more vulnerable. He looked unhappy and answered, "But, look, the guy who broke in here knows you weren't alone. Somebody will find out."

"I don't think so. He won't advertise the fact that he was committing a crime. I think he'll keep his mouth shut... whoever he was."

"Maybe so. But ... what are we going to do? I don't want to leave you alone but I can't stay the night here either," he said in despair.

She sighed and looked down. "I don't think he'll come back ... not tonight, anyway. But, you're right ― you can't stay here. I'm okay now. I'll be all right."

He was silent for a minute, his face unreadable. "I don't want to leave you," he repeated quietly.

Katy looked up at him and one corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. "I'll be okay. I'll lock up to beat sixty and I'll keep my gun within reach. I'm a pretty darn good shot."

He couldn't help smiling. "I thought you couldn't see past your nose."

She stared defiantly back. "I can if I keep my glasses on!"

Impulsively, he slipped his arms around her and pulled her to him. "You're something else!"

She held him close for a minute as well, savoring the broad expanse of his chest against her cheek. Then she pushed him away and said, "Go on, now. It's nearly 10:30; get out of here!"

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The phone woke her the next morning and she scrambled up to catch it on the fourth ring. It was Indy.

"How did it go last night?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm all right except for a crick in my neck," she laughed. "I slept propped up with the lights on! Nothing to report, though."

He chuckled. "Feel like joining me for a cup of coffee? I noticed that there's a diner next door to the hotel here."

"Yeah, sure, that sounds good. Give me a chance to jump in the shower and get my eyes open. What time is it? I'll meet you there in about 45 minutes."

That was agreeable with Indy and they hung up. Katy stretched and rubbed her neck then went to let Spike in. She locked the door firmly again and went to perform her morning rituals.

When she left the house, she took the skull with her, securely wrapped and stowed in the trunk of her car along with her pistol, safely in its case. Indy was waiting outside the diner as she drove up, looking rested and cheerful. He had bathed and shaved and was dressed in a light-colored cotton shirt and khaki pants, his fedora pushed back at a comfortable angle.

They took a booth in a quiet corner, away from the few others in the diner, and ordered breakfast. As she stirred sugar into her coffee, Katy looked thoughtful and said in a low voice that carried only to Indy, "I've been thinking about last night. Everything that happened last night. I ... uh ... think you should know that that's never happened to me before. I mean, what went on between us. I don't know what came over me. It was very foolish of me."

Indy laid his hand over hers and said seriously, "Katy, I'm the one who feels foolish. I shouldn't have jeopardized your reputation like that. I should have had more sense, but ... I wouldn't trade the memory for anything."

She studied his face for a long moment. "Me, either. I know I shouldn't have pressed. I forgot that you're in a vulnerable position, too." Her face softened into a gentle smile. "I think we both were just lonely and needing someone, then something clicked between us ― physically ― and we acted without really thinking. Let's go back to square one and start over again. Like I said yesterday ― I'd like to be your friend. I ... just can't be your lover."

The last was in a barely audible whisper and he squeezed her hand in understanding and affection. After a minute, she pulled her hand away and picked up her fork. The atmosphere of tension eased between them somewhat and Indy gratefully pursued another subject.

"I've been trying to figure out who your visitor was last night. You've had the skull for weeks. Why should someone wait until now to break in and steal it?"

Katy shook her head. "I don't know. No one really knew about it except Dr. Frost and I think we can discount him. If he'd wanted the skull, he knows I'd have given it to him at any time. I didn't realize its value until yesterday. And I'm sure he wouldn't have talked about it..."

"Backtrack a bit. Exactly how many people know about it?"

"Ummm ... let's see... The students who were with me last semester ― only about three people actually saw it and I'm pretty sure they can be trusted." She shook her head again. "That's all can remember."

Indy mulled it over then abruptly looked at her, revelation in his eyes. "No, there's one more! The operator who took the telegrams yesterday!"

"What do you mean?"

"The operator at the telegraph office knows about it now. He took my message and odds are he was still on duty when Marcus wired back." Indy leaned forward, excited. "We should be able to find out who was on duty yesterday."

Katy nodded. "Sounds logical. We can go over to Western Union as soon as we finish breakfast."

"Good idea," Jones answered and turn back to his food.

* * *

The telegraph office was located not far from the hotel in an ancient red brick building that also housed the town doctor, two surveyors and the field office of major oil company.

Katy led the way up the wooden stairs to the second floor and found the frosted glass door with "Western Union" painted on it in gold letters. The clerk behind the counter glanced up and smiled at the sight of her, then looked curious as Indy stepped in behind her.

"Hi, Bobby," Sullivan said. "I'd like you to meet Dr. Jones. He's a professor of archaeology visiting here at the college. Indy, this is Bob Rawlings."

The two men exchanged handshakes and greetings then Katy continued, "Bob, who was on duty yesterday?"

Rawlings looked suddenly uncomfortable and said, "Maybe you'd better talk to Mr. Adams. Just a second, I'll get him."

He disappeared into a back office and returned a moment later with a big, beefy, red-faced man, the stub of a cigar clenched firmly between his teeth. He was in his shirt sleeves, with the cuffs rolled up, and he looked annoyed.

Undaunted, Katy greeted him and asked, "Mr. Adams, could you tell us who was on duty yesterday afternoon? Dr. Jones here sent a telegram and wanted to talk to the operator who took it."

"That damn Injun causing more trouble?" Adams demanded, glaring at them. "Well, I don't know where he is. I got sick of his bull and fired him. He's on his way back to the reservation for all I know or care."

"Indian?" Katy questioned, exchanging curious glances with Jones.

"Compeche," Adams answered gruffly. "Frank Compeche. Got sick of his lip and told him to get his can out of my office. Lives out on the Edgemore place. That's all know."

Without further ado, Adams turned and stamped back into his office, slamming the door.

Rawlings had stood by uncomfortably and now looked apologetically at Sullivan and Jones. "Sorry about the ol' man's mood today," he said. "He's not usually on such a tear. But I'm afraid Frank got his dander up."

"Bob, what happened?"

"I don't know really; I just got it second-hand. Frank took a telegram last night, got real excited and refused to let anyone else see it. Told Mr. Adams that it was tribal business. Adams kicked him out and Frank said fine, but grabbed the telegram as he went and took off. That's all know."

Katy had paled a bit underneath her tan. "Do you know who the telegram was from or where it was going?"

Rawlings shook his head. "Sorry. He didn't log it in and he's got the only copy. Must've signaled back to the telegrapher on the other end that it was received okay, so there's no way to trace it." He looked ruefully down at her. "Wish I could be of more help."

"Well, thanks, Bob. See you later."

She turned back to the door, preoccupied, and Indy exchanged nods with Rawlings and followed her.

Outside the Western Union office, Indy stuck his hands in his pockets and inquired, "Whereto now, boss?"

"The Edgemore place ... to see Frank Compeche," Katy replied with determination.

"If he's still there. Sounds like he left in a hurry last night."

She glanced up at him, her eyes hard. "Oh, yes, indeed he did. Straight for my place!"

Indy's expression didn't change. "Well, I think we know where the telegram went." He patted the left breast pocket of his shirt and was rewarded by the soft crackle of paper. "Did you recognize him last night when you answered the door?"

"No, I don't know him personally. But, on reflection, I realize now that he must have been the one who delivered it. No doubt finding out where I lived." She shook her head. "But why should he want the skull bad enough to break into my house last night?"

Indy shrugged. "The money. Marcus didn't mention any specific amount but it was clear that he planned to offer you a considerable sum."

"Yes, I guess so," Katy mused.

"Katy, maybe it would be better if we went ahead and caught the next train to Washington. I'll feel better when the skull is safely in the Museum and I'd rather not give this Compeche another shot at getting his hands on it."

"Okay, that sounds like a good idea to me. Let's go back to my house and I'll pack a suitcase, then we can hit the road."

Indy nodded and ushered her down the stairs to Katy's car.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Katy couldn't suppress a cry of dismay as she opened the front door of her house and surveyed the damage. The place had been ransacked, books shrewn about, cushions from the couch and chair slashed, furniture overturned.

She took a step inside but Indy grabbed her arm and held her back. Silently, he shook his head, his face hard, eyes searching. Gesturing her back, he quietly entered the foyer, pausing frequently to listen, but the house was still. She followed, covering his back.

They made their way slowly down the hall. The kitchen was a shambles, broken dishes covering the floor, the icebox door standing open, a burst sack of flour lying just outside the pantry where everything had been swept from the shelves.

Katy's eyes blurred over with tears. She felt sick and clutched at Indy's arm to support herself. He patted her reassuringly and moved into the hallway to approach the bedroom.

It was as disarrayed as the other rooms, the dresser drawers pulled out and her clothes flung wildly around the room. The mattress had been dumped off the bed frame and her bookshelf emptied. Indy looked around at the chaos, noting that the hunting knife was gone from where he'd left it on the nightstand, and let his eyes roam appraisingly over the overturned plants, the ripped bed linen, the closed closet door―

His attention snapped back to the closet. Every door he'd seen so far had been standing wide open. Feeling a chill of anticipation ripple over him, he motioned Katy back out of the way and silently reached for the doorknob.

Before he had it firmly in his grasp, the door exploded outward, knocking him off his feet, and the lanky form of a tall, dark man was on him before he could react. Indy barely had time to intercept the knife-bearing hand that plunged downward and for a few frantic seconds the point of the knife hovered a scant inch above his face.

Then abruptly the man was knocked off him and Indy scrambled up to see Katy on the intruder's back, a strangle hold on his head and neck. The man flailed wildly at her, trying to get her arm away from his eyes and finally secured a purchase on her shirt, ripping her away and flinging her hard against the floor.

Indy caught him in the stomach with a hard left, causing him to stumble away, but the man recovered quickly, going into a fighting stance, the hunting knife in his right hand, ready. For a minute, the two men circled each other, searching for an opening. Indy now had time to take a good look at the intruder and realized that he was American Indian. Moreover, there were bruises showing under his dark skin and Jones suddenly had a damned good idea where there'd come from.

"Compeche?" he questioned, his eyes never leaving the other man's hard face.

The man didn't answer but Indy caught the flash of surprise in the coal black eyes and knew he had identified his opponent. Without warning, Compeche struck out at him with the knife, Indy leaping back out of range.

Katy was on her feet, blazing mad, and had snatched her rock pick from its belt case. This she brandished furiously and for a minute Compeche paused in his attack, his eyes flicking uncertainly from unarmed man to the enraged woman at his side.

The three stood at stalemate, breathing hard, then Sullivan said, "Indy, can you get to the phone and call the cops? I can hold him."

Jones ventured a quick glance up the hall to the phone stand. "No good. Looks like he yanked the cord out."

Compeche spoke for the first time, his lip curling in a sneer. "You think I'm stupid? Of course, I disconnected the phone!"

"What do you want?" Katy demanded, still holding the rock pick ready.

"Don't play dumb," Compeche growled. "I know you've got it."

"What?" Indy prodded him.

"You..." The man hunted around for the proper word and ground out something in a language Indy didn't understand. "Great White Father come down here to screw us poor ignorant savages... Don't you think we've been through this before? You've got our tribal totem and I want it back."

"What?" Katy asked again, following Indy's lead.

Compeche snarled again. "You bitch ― you know what I'm talking about. The skull. It belongs to us."

"Who's 'us'?"

"San Juan Pueblo ― the Hopi tribe. The skull belongs to us and I intend to take it back there!"

Katy's stance wavered. "Then why didn't you just say so? There was no need for all this. I'd have given it back to you."

Compeche lunged at her before Indy could move, knocking the pick out of her hand and jerking her into a hostage position, the knife lodged firmly under her chin. "Move and I'll cut her throat," he warned Indy. Now ― I want that skull. Get it!"

"What makes you think we have it?" Jones asked cautiously.

Compeche tightened his hold on Sullivan, causing her to whimper as the sharp blade bit into her skin. "Don't give me that bullshit, whitey. I want it now."

Katy's eyes were locked on Indy, frightened, and he backed down, believing that Compeche really would kill her if he didn't comply. "All right. It's in the car."

"Go," Compeche ordered and nodded toward the hall. Indy obeyed, the other man following, his knife still pressed against Katy's throat. When they reached the front door, the Hopi motioned Jones ahead but stayed just inside the screen where he could keep Indy in sight.

Indy retrieved the bundle that held the crystal skull and longingly eyed the gun case beside it, but didn't dare touch it. Compeche could see his every move. He closed the trunk and came back up onto the porch.

"That's close enough," Compeche said through the screen. "Unwrap it. Let me see it." Indy complied silently and Compeche nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, wrap it back up and set it down there on the step. Then get back in here ― and no funny stuff or she buys it."

Compeche drew Katy away as Indy came back in. "Get over there by the couch," he directed, turning to keep Katy's body between himself and the archaeologist. "Go on ― over against the wall!"

Jones moved warily across the room, watching the other man, unable to do anything. Compeche edged a little closer to the screen door then, when Indy was well out of easy reach, he made a sudden movement with the hunting knife, an abrupt flick of the wrist that sliced across Katy's throat. She was too surprised to do anything but gasp, then in the next instant, Compeche shoved her hard into Indy's path and sprang out the door, snatching up the bundle on the porch step and racing across the yard to a grove of trees, where a second later they heard an engine roar into life and pull away.

Indy's first impulse had been to dash after him but he checked instantly and tumbled to his knees, pulling Katy up frantically into his arms. Blood was pouring from the knife wound and she groped numbly at her throat, in shock. Indy quickly dug out his handkerchief and pressed it over the cut, trying to stem the flow.

"Can you hold it there?" he asked her and she nodded, breathing hard. As she held her hand against the handkerchief, Indy slid his arms underneath her and picked her up, hurrying down the hall to the bathroom. He set her down on the lowered toilet seat and snatched up a washcloth, wetting it under the faucet.

"Okay, let me see it," he said and she shakily took the blood-soaked handkerchief away from her throat. Indy gently and quickly cleaned the wound, then gave a sigh of relief when he found that it was a long but shallow cut from just under her left ear down the side of her neck, bloody but not serious. Compeche had known what he was doing; a little deeper and he could easily have severed a major vein or artery.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he assured her. "He just cut the skin. I need to get you to a doctor, though. Here, keep this cloth pressed against it." She nodded and let him pick her up once more, this time carrying her out to the car, where he settled her into the passenger seat. He went back into the house just long enough to retrieve her keys and purse, then locked the front door. This time he resolved that he was going to call the sheriff and the hell with Katy's protests.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

The wound did not require stitches, though the doctor taped it closed and bandaged it. The sheriff took their stories and went out with them to look over the house, then called in the county crime unit to go over the scene thoroughly for evidence. By mid-afternoon, the county judge had issued a warrant for Frank Compeche's arrest, but the sheriff's visit to Compeche's home revealed that his belongings were gone and the house was deserted. Since he was believed to have left the county, the Texas Rangers were alerted and by six p.m. an all points bulletin was issued for anyone answering Compeche's description.

Katy spent the night with Dr. Frost and his family, sedated and comfortably settled in their guest room. After seeing her safely into their hands, Indy, bone weary himself, drove back to the hotel, put through a long distance call to Marcus to appraise him of the situation, then collapsed into bed, falling into an exhausted sleep almost immediately.

The next morning he found Katy at her house, cleaning up the mess with the help of Mrs. Frost and her teen-age daughter Anna.

"Hi," he greeted Katy softly, searching her face for any signs of distress.

She looked tired but reasonably cheerful. "Hi," she said and took his hand for a moment.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Okay... my neck hurts, but Dr. Frost says it'll be fine in a couple of weeks." She nodded toward the sounds of cleaning coming from the back of the house. "The sheriff said they'd gotten the evidence on record, so we could get things back to normal. We should be done before too long."

Indy nodded then said, "Katy, I just came to tell you that I'm going after him."

"You know where he is?"

"I know where he's going. I intend get that skull back."

A little smile played around the corners of her mouth. "Then I'm going with you."

There was something feral in his answering smile. "I was hoping you'd say that. This won't be any joyride, though."

"Oh, hell, Indy ― I don't mind roughing it a little. Besides, I'm looking forward to seeing that bastard again. I have a bone to pick with him."

"Good. How soon can you be ready to leave?"

* * *

Indy surveyed the imposing plateau of San Juan Mesa through his binoculars. The centuries-old pueblo atop it shimmered in the heat, thin spirals of gray smoke rising into the crystalline air, evidence of habitation.

Katy stood beside him, shading her eyes with one hand. "How are you going to get the skull once we manage to get up there?" she asked, squinting against the desert's glare. "They won't let you near it."

"I've got to locate it first. Once I do that, I'll work on getting it out of there. I'll talk to the elders, try to convince them that it belongs in a museum ... something."

"Come on ― if this object is that sacred to them, you don't stand a chance."

Jones lowered the field glasses and turned an annoyed glance on her. She quailed a bit before it; this wasn't the gentle professor or even the two-fisted brawler she'd seen before. This was a hard, determined man who looked as if he usually got what he went after. It frightened her but she steeled herself and met his gaze.

"I'll get it," he said firmly. "If nothing else, I'll go to the authorities. There's a warrant out for Frank Compeche in Texas and he's crossed a state line. I'm sure the FBI will be willing to pick up a wanted fugitive." He turned back to the mesa. "I'll get it..."

Katy eyed him skeptically. "So, how are you going to find out where the skull is?"

Jones sighed and visibly softened a bit, and suddenly it was the archaeologist and not the soldier of fortune that stood before her. "I'll tell them the truth. They aren't savages. They'll understand."

* * *

"What you ask is impossible," said Tom Hoya, the council of old men silent in agreement. "We most heartily do not approve of young Compeche's method of returning Ochenyo to us, but he has brought back our ancestral _kachina_. We are very happy to have it back."

"But you don't understand," Indy said earnestly. "This is a national treasure. It belongs in a museum, where it can be cared for and protected."

"We understand, Dr. Jones, and realize that you are sincere in your coming here, but you do not understand what you ask," Hoya answered, his weathered face creased with sadness. "Ochenyo is our tribal totem. Would you enter San Juan Bautista and ask Father Rodriguez for the sacraments table? It is the same thing, you see."

Indy was silent for a moment, then answered gravely, "If it were in danger of being lost ― yes, I would."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jones. Ochenyo is back among his people and here he will stay. There is no more to say."

The old men rose and left the council room; Indy got wearily to his feet and followed. Katy joined him outside, her expression questioning, but Jones only shook his head in defeat. A few feet away, Frank Compeche had joined Hoya and the elders, looking triumphant.

Indy's eyes narrowed at the sight of him. The council had promised to censure him for his actions in obtaining the skull but Compeche felt secure from prosecution in the sanctuary of the pueblo.

"Good," he was saying to Hoya. "Then we will prepare for the ceremony tonight, to welcome Ochenyo home."

Katy's eyes blazed with hatred and she retorted venomously, "Ochenyo should strike you dead. You tried to kill both of us to get the skull back."

Compeche turned a belligerent glare on her. "I didn't try, you little slut, or you'd both be dead now."

With a growl, Indy started for him, one hand clenching into a hard fist.

Hoya barked out a word that stopped both men in their tracks. The elder turned rigidly to the younger man. "We have not yet decided your punishment, Compeche; do not compound it. And, you, sir, are a guest here. Do not overstep your place."

Frank backed down somewhat but still turned a sour gaze on the two Anglos. "They should not be here at all. Hopi land is no place for outsiders. They defile it."

"As you defile Ochenyo," Indy said softly, his voice steel-edged.

"You know nothing of Ochenyo!" Compeche shot back, his face darkening with rage. "You are not fit to speak his name!"

"You brought him back for your own glory," Indy continued relentlessly. "Not for the tribe's benefit but for your own."

"If that were true, then I wouldn't have brought him back at all! I would have sold him to your friend in Washington ― as you intend to do!"

The tribal elders were looking uncertainly back and forth between the two men.

Indy was calmly shaking his head, his eyes never leaving Compeche's face. "No. Perhaps I did before I saw the reverence your people hold for Ochenyo, but not now. Even before, if you had come to us and explained, we would have returned Ochenyo you. But you took the coward's way ― thievery in the night ... attacking an unarmed man ... holding a knife at a woman's throat to force your way."

Compeche's teeth clenched together he hissed, "Liar! You're on Hopi land now, and I could legally kill you for that!"

Again, Indy shook his head, his eyes as hard as flint. "It's the truth, Compeche. You know it."

"You can't prove it! And I say you're lying!"

"Then test me." Indy's gaze flicked to the left to include the elders. "Have the _kachinas_ test me."

"Our ceremonies are not for outsiders!" Compeche snarled. "Only a man may view the _kachinas_."

"I am a man," Indiana said in a low voice, his eyes hard and unflinching.

Compeche spat contemptuously and rapped out a harsh word in Hopi that needed no translation. It meant Anglo ... filth. "You are a woman," he said.

Jones' hard gaze did not waver. "Appeal to the _kachinas_. Ask them to test me. I am an Anglo and I am a man."

"Enough!" said Hoya abruptly and turned to the rest of the council. The old men put their heads together, muttering in Hopi for a long time. Indiana traded glares with the younger man, Compeche's black eyes blazing, boring into him. Indy held firm, angry.

After a while, Tom Hoya turned back, his face grave. "Very well. The _kachinas_ will test you tonight. But there will be no half-measure. If you are a man and speak the truth, then the _kachinas_ will come to you. If you are lying ... you will die."

Indy felt a small shock at this last statement, but only gave a terse nod and replied, "Let it be done."

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

They had smoked the mildly narcotic tobacco in the circle around the fire. Overhead, the stars were just appearing in the early evening and the fragrant smoke from the fire drifted up into the clear night over the mesa. Around them, the pueblo was dark and quiet, the women having withdrawn.

Indy sat cross-legged and shirtless, like the other men, his pale skin standing out amid the darker tones of the Hopi. The cool breeze raised a little prickling of goose flesh but he ignored it and concentrated on the ceremony unfolding around him. He still wore his khaki pants but had been supplied with a pair of knee-high deer-skin moccasins, heavily fringed with small shells.

The tobacco had both relaxed him and sharpened his awareness, and he straightened as one of the men began to thump a steady, compelling beat on an antelope hide drum. The men around the fire began to sway a bit with the beat and Indy felt himself being pulled by it, too. Almost involuntarily, his body began to rock in time with the drum.

There was a stir from the _sipapu_ of the kiva nearby and the ceremonial dancers emerged, like apparitions from the past, their bodies painted with arcane symbols of power. The shells on their moccasins whispered and the bone breastplates formed a percussion to the drum, their headdresses fledged with golden eagle feathers and hollow wing bones.

They danced in a circuit around the fire then one of the dancers stopped and squatted before the tribal medicine man, John Sityatki, producing a shallow pottery bowl and presenting it to him. Sityatki dug into a pouch and deposited half a dozen small, wrinkled brownish-gray objects in the bowl, then added some water and picked up a pestle, grinding and mixing the objects into a paste. He added more water until the mixture became a thin white soup. Then he brought the bowl to his mouth and took a sip. He nodded to the dancer and sat back.

The dancer rose and began going, one by one, to each man in the circle around the fire. They each took a sip and the bowl passed on. Indy watched it come to him with some trepidation. He knew what it was ― peyote ― and deep inside he felt a throb of fear at it. It was a powerful drug and a strong hallucinogen; he didn't like losing control but didn't dare refuse it. When the bowl reached him, he took a measured amount and swallowed it. The stuff was agonizingly bitter and he almost gagged, but the dancer's face made him fight down his gorge. It was Frank Compeche and, through the paint, he didn't bother to hide a triumphant smirk at Indy's discomfiture.

The bowl moved on and Indy closed his eyes, concentrating on stilling the bubbling cauldron in his stomach. The drum beat continued and gradually he realized that the men were beginning to sing, chanting in a tribal tongue, calling the _kachinas_.

Indy felt flushed and light-headed, felt the limits of his body expand and his mind begin to push impatiently at his skull. He opened his eyes and found that he couldn't seem to control his vision; he couldn't keep his eyes focused ... yet oddly his senses were sharper and more acute than he could remember them. Struck dumb, he stared stupidly up at the stars, wondering that he had never noticed the rainbow nimbus surrounding each one. The Milky Way stretched overhead like a gauzy river and Indy wanted to touch it, run his fingers along its silken folds.

All the men had joined in the _kachina_ song now, chanting with the drum. Indy's attention turned to it, sinking into the music and letting it carry him along. It didn't surprise him when he began to understand the words: "The spirits know what is in a man's heart. The spirits know if his heart is pure. The spirits know if he is afraid or angry. Do not be afraid or angry. Keep yourself pure. Do not flinch when the spirits choose you and they will carry news of your worthiness back to the Corn Mother."

Indy slowly realized that he was singing too, the words flowing easily from his throat in a rich baritone. His voice blended smoothly with those of the other men and he knew that the _kachinas_ would come ... soon.

Over the mountains towering behind the pueblo, clouds began to form on the night air, boiling and flickering with heat lightning. The _kachinas_ moved among them, calling and descending on the pueblo. The men's voices lifted in pitch, joyous in the return of the _kachinas_. Indy's lips pulled into a wide smile and he sang louder, feeling an almost orgasmic excitement swelling in him. The _kachinas_ moved among them, multi-colored, brilliant. They were only vaguely human-shaped, their forms changing even as he tried to look at them. They slipped along the night wind, passing among the men, teasing, flirting. Colored lightning crackled around them, singing in their feathers and horns.

Several large clay vessels had appeared in the circle and the ritual dancers, now transformed themselves into not-human, lifted the covers to release the earth spirits for their communion with the _kachinas_. The earth spirits slithered from the pots, forever tied to the ground, their sparkling scales and bright sharp eyes catching the firelight.

Something in Indy tugged fearfully but the _kachinas_ took up the chant of the elders: "The spirits know if a man is afraid. Do not be afraid." The bright _kachinas_ would protect him. The earth spirits would not harm him. He watched in fascination as the sky gods spiraled around the coiling forms in the dust, engulfing them, sinking through their skins, becoming one with them.

Then one of the men reached out and caught one of the spirits directly behind the head, stroking it and twining it around his arm. The snake spirit caressed him and the man got to his feet, beginning to dance. One by one, the other men did the same thing and Indy found his hand reaching out to a _kachina_ before him. The _kachina_ lifted its upper body from the ground and appraised him, its tongue flickering. "Is your heart pure?" the spirit whispered and Indy knew that it was. The _kachina_ let itself be caught, the hollow rattle on its tail speaking softly to the man, the great diamond-splotched body wrapping itself around his right arm.

Indy began to dance, partnered by the _kachina_. He sang to the spirit, moved on the night air, felt the shells on his moccasins building clouds and dust devils. The _kachina_ was beautiful and turned into the Corn Mother in his arms, flowing hair the color of ripening corn, eyes like new leaves in the spring, lips as ruddy as the earth from which she had sprung, sunlight and lightning wreathing her head. Spellbound, Indy danced on the night air, the _kachina_ testing the purity of his heart.

* * *

Inside the pueblo chamber, Katy paced restlessly, the sound of voices and drums coming faintly to her ears. "I can't stand this much longer," she said to no one in particular. "I've got to find out what's going on."

"No," said Maria Secakuku with finality. "It is a man's ceremony. A woman may not see it."

Sullivan waved it off distractedly. "I can't help it. I feel that Indy needs me. Something's wrong."

"No!" Maria repeated. "It is bad luck. Believe me ― you know nothing of these matters. If you go out there, your friend will die!"

The absolute conviction in her voice made Katy's heart constrict with fear. What the hell kind of ceremony was this, anyway? She sank down and said in a small, pleading voice, "I don't want him to die."

"Then wait. The _kachinas_ will protect him. And he will need you later. The _kachinas_ do not give up their hold easily. He will need you to help him return from the spirit world. Eat now. You will need your strength to bring him back."

Not at all hungry and worried sick about Indy, Katy reached half-heartedly for a corn tortilla and chewed it numbly.

* * *

The dancers slowly dropped in exhaustion, releasing the _kachinas_ to slither away down the sides of the mesa like rivulets of water. The spirits were pleased; they would send rain. A few men still held the snake spirits, the _kachinas_ speaking especially long with them. Indy was one, sinking down into the dust, listening to the _kachina's_ voice. The _kachina_ moved hypnotically before his eyes, tasting his soul with its bifurcated tongue.

There was a general stir among the Hopi men and Indy turned his attention from the earth spirit entwining his arm to see the Antelope Dancer appear in the firelight with a great spirit head in his hands. The skull's eyes glowed deep amber in the light, its crystal depths growing milky. The crystal opaqued, turned to bone, then began to flesh out. The amber glow in its eyes darkened. The skull, the disembodied head, was older than the sky gods, deep folds of sorrow and time etched in the parchment-like skin of its face, millennia forming its features. It opened its mouth and spoke:

"Time and time has passed ... the world has turned in the Great Circle of Life. My people are scattered and gone. They have forgotten the old ways. The sons turn from the fathers. The _kachinas_ fly on the winds..." Its voice was like a hollow reed, like the sound of seed pods on a dry stalk. "Long have I lain away from the people ... long have I gone unsought. The rain is gone ... the corn is gone ... the squash fails to blossom and the creeks to sing."

A dancer knelt before the Antelope Spirit and Indy realized dimly that it was Frank Compeche who appealed to the speaking skull. "Great Father, your people are not gone. We have not forsaken your ways. Show us again how to follow you! Bring back the rains to the land and make the corn grow!"

"The world has moved along the Great Circle, my son," the skull's dry voice answered him. "The power of the _kachinas_ is past. The God of the Anglos holds the land. You have waited too long ... too long..."

"Not too long, Great Father!" Compeche pleaded. "We have found you and brought you home to your _kiva_. Your power has returned! You can strike the Anglos and give us back the land!"

"The world has moved along the Great Circle..." the skull repeated and closed its eyes as if tired.

On his hands and knees, Indy moved closer, fascinated. Somewhere deep inside him, something stirred. A memory... a purpose for being here ... something about the past ... something about the skull ... the crystal skull...

Through the haze surrounding the world, Indy saw a lean, hard-eyed man in a fedora, purposeful in his actions, as cold as the gun on his hip, as uncompromising as the speaking whip in his hand. The crystal skull was clutched against his body and it sang a death-song.

Indy jerked away from the vision, knowing at once that it was himself, and his soul broke apart on the winds, stretched too many ways ― sorrow that he was the desecrater of the _kiva_ , rapacious desire to retrieve the skull for his own, fear for himself and Katy, anger at that fear, disbelief at the _kachinas'_ cries around him.

The great _kachina_ reared and hissed a warning at his contrary thoughts ― and Indy's drug-dazed mind cleared just long enough for him to find himself staring into the pale, gaping mouth of the rattlesnake wrapped around his hands. The old panic and loathing knocked him physically back and he screamed and flung the snake away ― but not before it struck in a blinding flash of motion, its fangs finding purchase in the soft underside of his right arm.

The other _kachina_ spirits swirled maddeningly in the air around him and the Hopi turned in confusion to look at the white man writhing in the dust, clutching his injured arm. Blood flowed from the twin wounds but that was inconsequential to the fire beginning to possess skin and muscle, spreading out in a deadly network of tendrils.

There came a rush of wind and riding it was the smell of decay. Dimly, Indy saw that the Antelope Dancer had raised the skull high, its eyes blazing red. It gave a dust-swept howl that rose into a high-pitched scream, somewhere between that of a desert gale and the cry of a golden eagle, a keening sound that prickled Indy's skin. Through the gathering dusk at the edges of his vision, the fire in his veins now searching for his heart to burn out the impurity, Indy watched the skull turn to dust and crumble in the Dancer's hands, slipping through his fingers to blow away like feathers on the wind, and the _kachina_ spirits spiraled up on the woodsmoke, soaring away into the night sky like distant hawks. Then the world spun around him and was dark.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Katy leaped to her feet as Frank Compeche and another man, still in their ceremonial paint, entered the dwelling room, carrying an unconscious Indy, and dumped him onto the blankets by the wall.

"What happened?" Sullivan cried.

"He had bad thoughts," Compeche said contemptuously and went out. The other man exchanged glances with Maria Secakuku and followed Frank out into the night.

Katy was bent over Jones, frantically examining him. His arm was swelling rapidly and beginning to turn an ugly reddish purple. "Oh, God! He's been snake­bit! Help me before it's too late! Where's a knife?"

"The _kachinas_ will help him," the Hopi woman answered.

"Damn the _kachinas_! He'll die if I don't get this poison out! Get me a knife!"

Secakuku hesitated for a second then retrieved a sharp knife from the shelf that held her kitchen utensils. Perhaps the Anglo girl was right in doing this; the will of the _kachinas_ was not always straight forward.

Katy quickly made an x-cut on Indy's arm over the bitemark and bent over it, sucking the poison out and spitting it onto the dirt floor. At last, she could taste no more bitterness in Indy's blood and said in a strangled voice, "Get me some water."

Maria brought her a cup of water from the keg and Katy rinsed her mouth and gargled before spitting it out into a slop jar. She did it a second time before she let herself relax and eye the bloody mess she'd left. "I'm sorry," she said. "I should've grabbed a pot or something."

" _Nada_ ," Maria shrugged and took a double handful of clean sand from a pot in the corner. This she sprinkled liberally over the puddle until it was covered. "The sand will soak it up and then I'll sweep."

Indy moaned and shifted feverishly on the blankets. Katy leaned over him and ran her hand across his sweat-beaded brow, brushing his wet hair back from his forehead. At her touch, he opened his eyes and looked at her, but his gaze was unfocused and she couldn't be sure it was actually her that he was seeing. Caressing his hot, flushed face, she called to him, "Indiana? Indy, can you hear me? It's all right now..."

He looked at her hard, as if trying to identify her, and one corner of his mouth twitched, then he closed his eyes wearily and sank back into sleep. Katy clenched her teeth together, determined not to cry. For a moment, she sat beside him, pulling her emotions back into line, then turned determinedly to the Hopi woman behind her.

"I need a bandage for his arm and some cool water and a cloth to bathe his face with. And I want to know what's the matter with him besides this snakebite..."

Maria Secakuku assessed her for a moment then bowed before the authority in Sullivan's voice, turning to find something that would serve as a bandage.

* * *

Slowly, Indy came up from the darkness, his body filled with the purging fire. He had gone to the spirit world, but one in which the _kachinas_ were angry and punishing him. The clear night sky had become overcast with opaque, ruddy clouds, close in to him, suffocating. The air was thick and hot and the physical pain he felt asserted itself more and more. The path of fire burned its way through his veins, seeking his heart, his eyes, his groin. He could still see the gaping mouth of the angry _kachina_ lunging at him, its fangs dripping retribution. He tried to shift away and a whimper of utter fear escaped his throat.

Then a cool hand was on his brow, like the breeze before a rain, and he turned his eyes searching, pleading for relief in his misery. And was caught and held by the Great Mother ... the Corn Mother. Compassionate, loving, she caressed his fevered face with her rain-cool hands, bending over him to stop his soul from burning away. Her corn gold hair flowed around her face, her leaf-green eyes steady and all-seeing. Her eyes, her face were enwreathed by gold/silver light. Her strong hands soothing him, she spoke his name and he knew she hadn't abandoned him. "It's all right..." she said and he believed her. It _was_ all right. She would stay with him now. The purging fire was draining from him, leaving the seared ashes of his soul behind it, but it hadn't consumed him totally. His heart of hearts was still intact and the Corn Mother would watch it for him until he was strong again. It was all right ... all right...

His eyes closed of their own volition but not before he had looked for a long time at the Corn Mother spirit stroking his sweat-drenched face. The Corn Mother had been with him always, he thought; once, he seemed to remember her coming to him as a lover and the memory of her breasts and thighs gladdened him. She would watch while he slept and keep the _kachinas_ from taking him again. He let his eyes close and found solace in sleep.

* * *

Indy woke two days later to the morning sun playing on the adobe wall next to him. The fever had left him weakened, but clear-headed. His right arm hurt but the swelling was gone and the cut-mark was forming a scab, well on its way to healing. Katy attended his needs and brought him food.

Later that day, Tom Hoya came and expressed satisfaction that Indy was up and around again. He also announced that their presence was required at the council meeting hearing Frank Compeche's defense; they were to testify for the council.

The meeting lasted for a little under two hours, Compeche railing at length of his efforts to retrieve and bring the crystal skull back to the pueblo. Indy and Katy told their stories while the council of old men listened dispassionately.

Afterwards, the elders retired to the sanctity of the _kiva_ to smoke and discuss the matter.

When they returned some time later, Compeche straightened, confident in his acquittal. Hoya stood and addressed the meeting:

"Long ago, the Anasazi people ruled this land with the help of the _kachina_ spirits. Even after the coming of the Anglos, the _kachinas_ protected us. We have held this land for over a thousand years. But when the _kachina_ is lost, then a people is lost.

"When Ochenyo was stolen from us, we were no longer Anasazi. The people scattered across the earth and wandered in search of the spirits. We became Hopi, as our brothers became Navajo, and Mescalero, and Jicarilla, and Ute. It was so long ago that we forgot we were brothers and warred against one another. Then the Anglos came and warred against us all."

Hoya paused and drew himself up again. "Ochenyo has been returned to us now. But we are no longer Anasazi. We are Hopi and the way of the world is no longer true. But we must still hold to the old ways and respect the laws of our fathers."

Indy glanced quickly across at Compeche. The young Hopi was no longer smiling and a look of growing disbelief was slowly spreading over his features. Jones turned his attention back to Hoya.

"Frank Compeche has returned Ochenyo to us and for that we are grateful. But in doing so, he has broken the laws that govern us. You have all heard his testimony and that of Indiana Jones and Katharine Sullivan. In my own hearing, he has threatened them and displayed hostility toward them. It is not the way of the Hopi. He has violated a dwelling, not once, but twice; he has destroyed property with no restitution; he has physically harmed Señorita Sullivan and attempted to harm Señor Jones. Such conduct violates Hopi law."

Hoya looked tired as he faced the younger man directly. "Frank Compeche ... the council has heard your words and those of your accusers. We have smoked and prayed on this matter and have come to a decision." Compeche rose to his feet apprehensively, no longer sure of his position. "We believe that you are guilty of the charges brought against you. It is our decision that you be banished from the Hopi tribe for five years. During that time, none of our people will give you food, shelter, water or fire. You will not be allowed to live in San Juan or any other Hopi pueblo. However, because we are grateful for the return of Ochenyo, we will not hand you over to the Anglo authorities for arrest. We will not aide you in avoiding prosecution, but we will not reveal your whereabouts to them either. You will be on your own in escaping them, free but forever expecting arrest. If you are caught, there too you will be on your own. We have decided that this is a just punishment for your crimes. Now, go. The council has spoken."

Compeche stood in stark disbelief for a moment than cried, "No! You can't do this!"

Hoya faced him, unmoved. "It is done."

"But―"

"The council has spoken. It is done."

Compeche stared, speechless in his shock, then his teeth came together in a savage snarl. "You'll regret this," he hissed, then swung to glare in hatred at the Anglo man and woman seated across the council circle. "You're dead," he stated flatly and whirled to stalk away.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

"Are you sure you're strong enough, Indy?" Sullivan asked. "You haven't been up too long."

"Sure, I feel fine." He checked the bandage covering the small wound on his right arm, then shrugged into his shirt. "It's time we were going. We've imposed long enough and, besides, we've both got classes starting soon."

"That's true," she sighed. "I'm sorry this whole trip was for nothing, Indy."

He paused in buttoning his shirt and smiled warmly. "Not for nothing," he answered and reached out to caress her cheek. "It's been interesting ... all things considered." He drew her into his arms and kissed her for a long, pleasant moment. When he lifted his lips from hers, he continued to hold her. "I never thanked you for saving my life. If you hadn't been there―"

"Oh, heck, Indy," she broke in, embarrassed. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have gotten into all this in the first place."

"Well, I appreciate it, anyway," he insisted, kissed her forehead lightly and released her to continue dressing.

As she gathered their belongings together, he tucked his shirt in, then methodically secured his coiled whip in its hasp. He would have felt better with his revolver counterbalancing it, but transporting firearms across state lines was a federal offense and the U.S. government had not yet been inclined to issue him the proper permit.

They said their goodbyes to Tom Hoya and the elders, thanking them for their hospitality and understanding, and Indy and Katy started down the trail from the mesa top to the spot where they had left their car several days before.

From the barren plateau, the trail wound its way down the side of the mesa through a sparse stand of pinion pines, stunted, gnarled trees that clung tenaciously to their hold on the weathered sandstone. Partway through, Indy paused and stopped to listen, uneasy but unable to locate any cause. The barest hint of a breeze sighed through the dry pine needles and a bird cheeped somewhere in the branches, but other than that, the land was silent.

Still apprehensive, Indy shook his head and motioned Katy ahead, anxious to get through the trees and into the open. He scanned their surroundings, trying to pinpoint the source of his restiveness. The parting words of Frank Compeche rang all too clearly in his mind and he was sure that the Indian would carry through on his threat.

The trees fell away until only one or two remained and the slope of the trail evened out onto a wide ledge about thirty feet across. It was here that they had left their car, at the end of the crude road that snaked up the face of the mesa. From this point, only foot traffic or burros could ascend to the top of the bluff. To the left, the imposing bulk of the mesa itself lifted over their heads; to the right, a lone pinion pine sank its exposed roots into the brink of a precipitous drop to the desert floor below.

Prickling with apprehension, Indy started with Katy toward their car, then stopped in his tracks. The driver's door was open and a pair of booted feet protruded. The car hadn't been locked but Indy had taken the keys with him and it was obvious that someone was trying to hot wire the sedan. He had a pretty good idea who that someone was. He was right.

At the sound of their footsteps, Compeche scrambled up to stare at them for a long second of astonishment, then his features settled into a dark scowl. In another second's time, he was on his feet, starting for them with the hunting knife ready in his hand.

Jones felt a rush of outrage and fury that passed all reason. Compeche had been nothing but grief to him since their first meeting. The absurdity of having to deal with that knife again made something snap and Indy moved on the Hopi with murderous rage. One way or the other, it would end here.

Compeche dodged his initial swing, then turned to lunge at him with the knife. Indy side-stepped quickly and lashed out with one foot, catching the other man in the shin, causing him to go down on his hands and knees. Instantly, Jones stamped his foot down on Compeche's hand, the crack of bone drowned out by Frank's cry of pain. Before he could recover, Indy kicked the knife out of his grasp and it spun away over the edge of the cliff, glinting in the clear desert air.

Jones dragged his opponent to his feet, but Compeche suddenly spat out a harsh epithet and slammed the heel of his left hand into Indy's face. The archaeologist stumbled back, tasting blood from a split lip, and lost his footing, going down in the dust hard on his injured arm. Fire shot through the muscle, bringing an involuntary cry from Jones. Compeche landed on him an instant later, pounding his left fist again and again into Jones' face while a stunned Indy tried to block the blows.

Katy had hung back, looking for an opportunity, and now she struck, catching Compeche off-guard with a wild cry and a vicious swing of her backpack to the side of his head, knocking him off Indy. Before the Hopi could recover, she was astride him, both her fists in forceful action.

He attempted to fend her off for a few seconds, then slammed a hard punch into her face, sending her spinning off him and into the dirt, where she lay trying to clear her whirling head.

Indy was climbing wearily to his feet, his eyes locked on his opponent, blood streaming down his chin, and Compeche did likewise, cradling his injured right hand against him. Both men were breathing hard, tired but determined to settle it once and for all.

"Why don't you give it up, Compeche?" Indy said, his eyes never leaving the other man's.

Compeche's face contorted insanely and he gave a strangled sound of rage, launching himself at Indy. Jones met him in answering fury and the two came together in unrestrained battle, a maelstrom of punches and kicks and blood.

Katy had recovered now and drew back toward the car, terrified by the savagery of the war raging between the two men, both now fighting with an almost animalistic ferocity. Numbly she realized that it would only end when one was dead.

Her stunned brain finally grasped the fact that she needed a weapon, something to turn the tide, something that might be found in the car, and she stumbled toward the still open driver's door. Before she could begin her search, however, she spied a wrapped object lying on the seat and something about it made her reach for it.

The dirty cloth came away in her hands, revealing the sharp flash of crystal. For a moment, she stared dumbfounded at the deaths'-head grinning up at her, then realization struck her. Compeche had stolen the skull back from his people and had been trying to escape in their car.

She whirled back to see Indy deliver a powerhouse punch across Compeche's chin and go down himself with absolute exhaustion. For a long moment, both men lay where they had fallen, gasping for breath. Then, as if by mutual consent, they began to get to their feet, almost staggering, facing off once more. Katy had seen enough and cried out, "Stop it!" her voice edged with hysteria.

Both turned toward her, seemingly having forgotten her presence, and at the same instant their eyes locked on the crystal skull in her hands.

For a second, the only sound was Indy's intake of breath, then Compeche gave a guttural cry and made a flying leap at Sullivan, taking her down into the dust as he scrambled after the skull. She fought to keep it but the glass-smooth surface defied her and the artifact leapt from her hands as if under its own power.

Indy landed on it an instant before Compeche and the two men grappled and rolled in the dust, nearer and nearer the drop-off.

Reaching out for a handful of sand, the Hopi flung it into Indy's eyes. Jones reacted instinctively, jerking away and flinging his hand before his face, enabling Compeche to wrest the skull from him. Before the archaeologist could clear his vision, Frank had scuttled away and was on his feet, out of Indy's reach at the edge of the cliff, the crystal skull in his hands.

There, he glared contemptuously at his adversaries. "Fools," he sneered. "All fools. You have no more use for Ochenyo than they did! No one realizes its power but me. I gave it back to them as a gift and you saw how they repaid me. Now, they'll be sorry. I'll use Ochenyo to level this mountain!"

"Are you the god now or Ochenyo?" Indy answered, from where he sat in the dust, breathing hard.

"You whitey bastards will be the first to go," Compeche snarled through clenched teeth. His voice descended into a harsh grate, his eyes glittering insanely as he lifted the crystal skull above his head.

"DIE!!"

Whatever Compeche expected to happen, none were prepared for what actually did. For just an instant, there was a clap of thunder and the smell of ozone in the air and the towering figure of a great chief stood before Compeche, war club raised and eyes blazing with judgment.

Frank screamed and fell back, abruptly on the edge of the cliff, the sandstone ledge crumbling under his feet. For a hideous moment, he hung there, flailing his arms in a wild bid for balance, then the rim gave way beneath him and he disappeared with a terrible scream; the crystal skull bounced once on the rim before it too fell from sight.

Indy flung himself after them, truly not knowing which one he sought to save, caught himself too late on the rim ― and went over the edge, as well, his fingers clawing desperately at the rock.

With a cry, Katy threw herself at him and somehow, miraculously, caught Indy's right wrist in both hands. The impetus of his fall jerked her after him over the brink, but her frantically scrabbling boots caught and held on one of the exposed roots of the pinion pine. Flat on her stomach, she hung onto his wrist with all her might, praying for strength, for endurance.

His shoulder nearly jerked out of its socket by the abrupt breaking of his fall, Indy hung for a second stunned, vertigo sweeping over him at the yawning emptiness beneath him. Then realization came back to him and he grabbed Katy's wrist with his other hand.

"Don't let go! Don't let go!" he pleaded, his throat dry.

"Indy, I'm slipping!"

"Don't let go!" He scrambled for a toe hold to push himself up, but couldn't quite get enough leverage to do it. Overhead, the pinion pine shuddered, sending a light shower of pine needles fluttering down on him. He stared at it in sudden inspiration.

"Katy, hang on to me. Hang on!"

"Hurry, Indy!"

"Hang on!" Gingerly, he released his left hand, still clutching her wrist with his right, and with his free hand fumbled awkwardly at the clasp still holding his whip firmly at his left side. It gave with practiced smoothness and the next instant the rawhide hilt was in his hand.

With a crack, the whip wrapped itself around the twisted trunk of the pinion pine and held. Jones let the hilt slide through his fingers until the whip hung limp, a little longer than he was tall. Carefully, he wrapped his legs around it and gripped it hard with his left hand, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his abused right arm.

Indy paused to steady his breathing and steel himself for the next part, the hardest. "Okay, Katy, when I say the word, let go." He said a silent prayer to whatever deities might be listening, readied himself and said, "Now!"

Sullivan released her hold on his wrist at the same instant that he made a lunge for the whip and, for a dizzying moment, swung free. The rawhide creaked ominously under his full weight but did not give.

With agonizing slowness, Indy pulled himself up, Katy doing her best to help, and at last they lay sprawled in the dust together, unable to move. After a few minutes, she hid her face against his side and her shoulders began to shake.

Weakly, he patted her back, wishing he had the strength left for some kind of release himself, but his emotions had overloaded for the moment and he could only lie dumbly, waiting for his body to start responding again.

At last, he pushed himself into a sitting position and drew her up with him, enfolding her in his arms and burying his face in her hair, terror and desperation and relief finally overcoming him. For a long time, they sat beneath the twisted pine, hard in each other's arms, heedless of the soughing wind in the branches.

* * *

Indiana Jones closed the trunk of his car and turned to face the young woman standing next to him. For a moment, they stood searching for something to say, then Indy smiled and said, "Well, guess I'd better be going. If you're ever up in Connecticut, stop in."

Katy smiled back. "Sure ... sure, I'll do that. And, likewise, next time you in Texas―"

Indy nodded. "Well ... take care of yourself."

"Yeah, you, too. Stay out of trouble."

He laughed. "Not likely."

The forced conversation trailed off and Indy swallowed the lump in his throat. Reaching out, he took her hand and felt her fingers curl around his in answer. Then she was in his arms, kissing him fiercely.

He returned it with fervor then reluctantly drew his lips away from hers and pulled out of her embrace. For a long moment their eyes locked and held. Then, without speaking, he slid into the driver's seat of his car and started the engine.

THE END


End file.
